Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(108)

Men clustered around their commander, waiting their turn to speak and to get their orders. First one face, and then another turned to Dion, eyes widening when they saw him. Suddenly they all went silent. With his back to Dion, it was Nikolas who was the last to turn around.

‘Dion,’ he whispered.

Nikolas’s eyes were as red as the embers of a fire, and burning with the same intensity. Although they were dry, he’d obviously been weeping. Dion’s heart reached out to him. Dion had lost his parents. Nikolas had not only been closer to their father than Dion ever was, he had lost his wife, and perhaps also little Lukas, his son.

As Dion approached, he felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes. In his Ilean clothing, with the composite bow his brother had given him in his hand, dirty and bloody, he waited nonetheless for his brother’s embrace.

But when Nikolas spoke, it was the last word Dion ever expected him to utter.

‘Sword,’ Nikolas said. He opened his palm and looked at one of the soldiers nearby expectantly.

The whisper of drawn steel filled the air. The soldier proffered the sword, and Nikolas gripped the hilt tightly in his palm.

He suddenly raised the weapon to strike.

Eyes wide, shocked into frozen silence, Dion didn’t move to stop him.

Nikolas gritted his teeth, grunting with effort as his arm twitched, high in the air. His muscles were bunched, tensed to breaking point.

‘I can’t do it,’ he whispered.

Nikolas lowered the sword. A sob erupted in his chest, but was swiftly suppressed. He spoke in a voice of torn emotion Dion had never heard before.

‘You gave us away . . .’ he whispered. ‘They came through the Shards.’

‘Brother—’ Dion struggled to speak.

Nikolas raised the sword again and Dion’s voice fell away. Once more Nikolas tried to slash down at Dion’s neck. Once more his muscles tensed and wrist trembled until he lowered his arm.

‘Though my parents are dead, and my kingdom has been seized by invaders; though my wife has suffered in ways I can’t bear to think on, and I have no news of my only son . . . still I can’t strike you.’

Nikolas visibly held himself in a state of suppressed emotion. His chest heaved up and down like a racehorse at the gate.

‘Brother, it’s me—’

‘Go,’ Nikolas said. He turned his back on Dion. ‘Get out of my sight!’

‘Why?’ Dion asked, trying to force himself to understand.

Nikolas whirled, rounding on him. ‘How would men from Ilea know about the passage? You went to Ilea, to Lamara. Look at you.’ His burning gaze traveled up and down Dion’s body. ‘You told them.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Dion protested. ‘It was a traitor!’

‘Who, Dion? Who was this traitor, if not you?’

‘It could only have been Peithon.’

‘Peithon?’ Nikolas grunted. He called out. ‘Peithon, where are you?’

Dion’s eyes went wide as Peithon stepped forward into the circle. The brow of his large face was curled into a scowl and his eyes were narrowed over his hooked nose. The fine tunic around his paunch was white and clean; he had taken no part in the fighting.

‘You accuse me?’ Peithon’s voice rose.

‘Peithon was in Phalesia when the attack came,’ Nikolas said. ‘Today I cannot see another member of my family killed. I may not feel the same tomorrow. Now get out of here, Dion, before I change my mind and kill you.’





53


The hills swarmed with the sun king’s soldiers. The army of Xanthos blocked the pass. As night fell over a day of utter anguish, Dion went to the only place he could go.

He left the Gates of Annika and walked north, into the Wilds.

Leaving civilization behind completely, he climbed into the forested mountains and soon felt the heavy presence of trees on both sides and thick branches ahead. He crested a hill and entered a valley, with a fast-flowing river tumbling over a bed of smooth white stones.

The darkness was complete but still Dion kept walking. He followed the river until it became sluggish, with grassy banks at both sides. Entering a tranquil clearing within an almost perfect circle of surrounding evergreens, he stopped in the very center and looked up at the night sky.

Stars shimmered in the heavens, scattered pinpricks of light that clustered in strange formations. In the distance he could hear the roar of a waterfall. Something about the place calmed his ragged emotions.

Gazing at the firmament, Dion scowled up at the gods, who had all deserted him; he thought he’d come here to pray, but now the words escaped him. Who would he pray to? Aldus, the god of justice, who had caused Dion to be cursed with treachery? Helios, the sun god, whose name was uttered with supreme reverence in Ilea? Edra, the fertility goddess? Balal, the god of war? Silex, the god of the sea? Aeris, the goddess of healing?

He sank to his knees and then fell onto his back as he cursed them all, still staring up at the night’s sky.

He remembered his family giving him the gift of the bow on the beach. He tried not to, but he couldn’t stop himself thinking about his mother’s final hours. He remembered her saying goodbye to him as he sailed away, the last person standing to see him go, her hand raised.

He wished he’d known it was the last time he would see her alive.